"Nothing Exceeds Like Superfluous Jejunity "

Category Archives: popular culture

While I can handle
simple addition and
such, when you start
making me do
complicated equations
where you got letters
and powers to ‘nth
degree, I’m more lost
than a nun at a strip
club on amateur night.

Ok, sure, I guess she
could be looking for
someone, that’s really
not the point…..

It’s simply one of my
long-winded ways of
getting to the point —
which today is Sudoku.

Well,
I’ll have to admit,
we use a lot of slang
around here
at the
Muscleheaded Blog……..

I like to say
that a bit
of the blarney blarg
helps make my posts
almost completely
incomprehensible,
which is good ’cause
no one can take exception
to what I’m saying if they
don’t even understand
what the hell I’m even
talking about.

And if maybe a coherent
thought should slip
through every now
and then,
well…

what’s a salsa without
a little lime, chili and
cilantro?

(mushy tomatoes and
onions, mostly)

Errr.. my point ,
belabored as
it may be,
is:
{ if N=slang then
W+O+R+D+S (+N) }
makes up more than
the sum of it’s letters –

it’s a kinda code that really
doesn’t make any sense to
anyone except the people
who are in on the thing.

(and heaven only knows
who ‘they’ are)

Until it gets
out of the bag,
as it were,
and then,
it becomes part
of ‘popular parlance’.

Think about it.

At one time, only a small
group of people knew that
there was another meaning
to the word ‘beaver’ other
than just a cousin to the
honey badger.

But it spread.

Umm…
I mean, the popularity of
the expression spread.

And now,
well…
you can jump
to your own conclusions.

Today, we’re attempting
to revive what were,
at one time,
very popular expressions…

(good luck
with that, right …. )

For instance,
you might remember
that the Victorians were
very touchy about
certain words,
and used substitutes
and insider slang to
replace the names
of stuff that they
didn’t like to talk about.

Testicles,
for instance.

Very touchy.

They called ’em
‘whirlygigs’.

Much better, huh?

But you had to
be quite a‘whipster‘ to know
what they meant
when they said it.

Welcome to another
Muscleheaded post
about archaic English
words that you can add
to your daily
vocabulary to confuse
your friends and
confound your enemies.

And never mind what
it’ll do to your Aunt
Martha.

Hey–
remember when
you had
a crush on that cute
girl who was stuck
sitting next to you
in the pew every Friday
Mass at school ?

How you used to make
snide remarks about her
habit of ” cachinnating “,
(laughing loudly ) even
though you really thought
she was an angel?

Well, that feigned
dislike is called
” accismus ” —
and while it is a
pretty stupid way to
get her attention,
and didn’t work
worth a hot damn,
other than to get her to
” peenge ” (whine) to
the very ” sermonolatric ”
(preachy) Father Flannigan,
who grabbed his “ballow”
(stick) and whooped you
within an inch of
your ” contumelious ”
(disrespectful) little life
until your legs were
” quagswagging ”
(wobbling) like
crazy as penance for
your ” fallaciloquence “.

Awww well..
as it turned out,
she was ” fizgigging ”
(flirting) with the
“exiguous” ” poltroon “
(skinny wimp) down the
street anyway.

I’m sorry to ” flosculate “,
but that’s how
it went down.

As for our postcards
today, these are more
fine examples of the work
of turn of the century
illustrator Albert Peter
Carmichael.

I know they don’t really
have anything to do with
today’s text,
—- but I like em.

Something that
I’m reminded of,
on an almost
daily basis,
is how much
our social structure
has been transformed
in the last 50 some years.

Hey,
I’m not saying
that it’s bad,
or that it’s good —

to me,
for the most part, anyway–
— it’s just been weird.

And you know me,
change is something
that I never really
like all that much.

Take flirting,
for instance.

The rules seem to have
been altered wildly
without me ever
even getting
the first memo.

Here I thought that
there was this long process
of talking, courting and dating
before you even thought
about touching a woman
‘ that way ‘ —

— when all that is
apparently required
is a first class seat
on an aircraft,
a bad comb-over,
and ooodles
and oodles of money.

In that case,
all a lady
has to do is plunk down
in the seat next to you,
smile —

— and it’s all you can eat ??

Nuts, man.

What a creep.

Be that as it may…..

At the annual
collector’s swap-meet,
I was browsing a 1952 issue
of a magazine called
“The Girlfriend and The Boyfriend“…..

Sure, a strange title for
a magazine, but who am
I to argue with media moguls?

Anyhoo….

According to the expert
relationship-ologist
who wrote the article….

( I dunno,
is relationship-ologist
a word, or what?
I just made it up,
so maybe not. )

“High on every boy’s
list of pet peeves is the type of girl
shown on these and the next two pages. Why?
Because she is a teaser. Almost all girls that
are pretty flirt a little. It’s the natural thing to do. But a girl who is a teaser is not content with simple, wholesome flirting; she goes out of her
way to bait boys with an obvious display
of her physical charms — baits them with
unspoken promises that she hasn’t the
slightest intention of fulfilling. In addition to her other
unflattering qualities, therefore, a teaser is dishonest. She has no real sincere
interest in the boys whose attention she
sets out to capture; she is simply playing
a game in which she holds all of the
cards and doesn’t mind resorting to
the cheapest of tricks. A few of these tricks
are illustrated here. Sometimes they work,
sometimes they don’t. But whether they are
successful or not, a teaser never wins in the long run. For no boy wants to
marry a girl who enjoys showing off
her charms to others.”

Now, pardon me for interrupting
an obvious expert on stuff like this,
but it seems to me that teasing
is the very essence of flirting —

— and without flirting,
— well—
life would be pretty fuckin dull,
…. let’s just put it that way.

The noble art of teasing
has been around for centuries —
and has got absolutely nothing
to do with honesty or
any other such millarkey.

I love to be teased,
and any man worth
his salt would say
the same thing.

If the hook sinks a bit
too deep once in a while,
I dunno what to tell you,
but hey–
grow up, man.